corpse flower rises from the inky midnite black of deepest, wettest desire. like a cave. bats flutter by, but the only idea biting one's neck is the twitch of memory as distant stills approach from behind... a wispy presence which wraps its certain wings around one's midsection surreptitiously (like longing), then SQUEEZES the very breath from all it ever held.
something like one's heart.
corpse flower rises from something like one's heart.